


Biscuit in the Basket

by sorrylatenew



Series: Bring Out the Whiteboard [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Feminization, Fingerfucking, Future Fic, M/M, Pegging, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Squirting, Switching, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylatenew/pseuds/sorrylatenew
Summary: Jonny catches a glimpse of himself in the long mirror Patrick dragged in from the living room the other night—straps around his hips, a strap up his asscrack, which Patrick turns him around to get to properly. It brings the dildo into easy view, hanging where Jonny's cock should be, a little lower than its usual position and also fucking navy blue.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Series: Bring Out the Whiteboard [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1411909
Comments: 21
Kudos: 106
Collections: 1988: Locked In





	Biscuit in the Basket

**Author's Note:**

> Getting this one out in enough time even for amnesty week just about killed meeeeeeeeeee. But that's what I get for switching up my fic last minute and for being my procrastinating bitch self signing up for a fest. BUT I'M GLAD BC HERE IT IS. Huge ty as ALWAYS to allthebros for cheering on my bad decisions, for the never ending support, and the late night beta, ilusm❤️. Ty to the mods for running the fest and making it so we have fic in these dark times. And absolutely no ty to K for making me want to write this in the first place and distracting me every single step of the way (jk ilu 😭😭).
> 
> A sequel to [Going Five-Hole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19477594) that will not make much sense on its own.
> 
> As in the fic that came before it, this one also contains cis male athletes talking about and dealing with the sudden acquisition of a vagina.

Jonny has never had so much sex in his life.

This includes the entirety of his stint as a student athlete in college, his breakthrough year into the NHL, and his first ever summer as a Stanley Cup champion.

He's only had this thing for two weeks.

"I don't know what's gonna be comfortable for you, Jon." Patrick's voice comes low and a little muted from Jonny's phone, where his onscreen suspicious-as-fuck face is currently looking at him through dark sunglasses. "Actually I don't know what any of this even is. You should've come down here and picked it out yourself."

“You think I know more about it than you do?” Jonny shoots back, not bothering to keep the incredulity out of his tone. “It was your idea, so it’s your mission.”

“Yeah, my idea alright,” Patrick says. The screen flips and Jonny’s met with the somewhat shaky image of a wall of harnesses, several of them with dicks already attached. “Sure wasn’t your tune this morning.”

“Sure wasn’t your tune when I said we could get one.”

Patrick doesn’t answer—silence from the speaker while he presents Jonny with the options by way of turning his phone very slowly from side to side.

“What’s that there,” Jonny says, squinting as though that might help him see better.

“Which one?”

“That green one.”

“There is no green one.”

“That green dildo, Patrick.”

There is sudden, violent movement of the phone, like Patrick is trying to muffle it, which is confirmed when his voice says, “Jesus, you gotta be so fucking loud?”

“You’re standing there _looking_ at a wall of them and I can’t say dildo?”

“Don’t say my name!”

“Holy fuck.” Jonny throws his head back and an arm out and scoffs at the ceiling.

He waits in silence, and eventually the screen turns from the shop’s speckled gray carpet back to the strap-ons.

“We should’ve just gotten one-day delivery,” Patrick says.

“Oh, like I suggested?”

There’s no answer here either, Patrick instead choosing to walk over closer to the harness Jonny pointed out and give him a better look. “This is not gonna fit your fat ass,” he says.

“It’s not adjustable?” Jonny asks, voice flat. 

“Not as much as you’d need, baby.”

Jonny rolls his eyes but also smiles a little, gets up from his place on the couch to go out into the sunroom, shake the excess anxiety Patrick’s projecting at him out of his legs. “I just wanted to see that dick anyway.”

“We’re not looking at dildos here, focus.”

Jonny leans in absently to examine a couple browning spots on his fiddle leaf. “Why aren’t we looking at dildos?”

“We’ve got those.”

“One that’ll fit?”

“Don’t they all fit?” The camera flips back around to Patrick’s face, and Jonny can’t really see his eyes very well, but he can see his lifted brows. “Also—are you fucking kidding me with that green thing?”

Jonny flattens his mouth out, shrugs his shoulders. “What’s wrong with it?”

“That’s too fucking big.”

“It can’t be any bigger than you are.”

Patrick’s expression, then, is pointed.

“What?”

“You’re not the one taking the dick.”

“Most of the ones we have are about your size, Patri—“

Patrick lifts his eyebrows higher. 

Jonny closes his mouth, lets out a heavy sigh through his nose. 

“Most,” Patrick agrees when he seems satisfied. “But there’s a couple in there that _I_ like.”

At that, Jonny feels an immediate little shot of warmth down low, sucks in a quiet breath and holds it, bites his bottom lip. 

He’s still not used to how weird this arousal feels—the sheer heat of it, the way it lights his...pussy up like someone’s implanted a miniature tanning bed into his insides.

“The red one,” he says, voice deeper imagining the way the curve on it gets Patrick so good when they’re—

“Focus,” Patrick says again, but he’s dimpled up on the right side with a crooked, pleased little grin, and Jonny can’t help smiling back. 

“That one doesn’t have much of a base,” Jonny goes on, clearing the break in his voice that he can feel wants to emerge. “It’s like a—knobby handle.”

“That’s not gonna work for you?”

“I don’t think it works for this, period.” Jonny exits back out of the room the way he came, wanders into the kitchen tapping his fingers along the wall. “They’ve always got balls in strap-ons, find one with balls.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“How do you know?” 

“I’m looking at them.”

Fair, Jonny guesses. “Well, god, pick one you like and buy it.”

“You’re the one who wants to buy a dildo.”

Jonny grabs some water and closes the fridge a little harder than he needs to. “If you come home with a strap-on and no dildo to fit it, do you want to go back out? Because I’m not fucking going out.”

The angle Jonny can see now is straight up Patrick’s nose, but he watches his mouth thin into a long line of hard acceptance. “That’s gonna take some time then.”

“I’m not waiting on this phone for your picky ass.”

Patrick pulls a face, his lip curling up. “Do not laugh at that, Jon,” he says, and Jonny smiles. 

“Seriously I’m not, though, Jesus.” He plops down on the barstool nearest him and has to take another second’s pause, the wet that’s gathered during this conversation making itself known. He adjusts himself, squeezes his legs together and goes on. ”You’re taking more time asking me questions than if you just picked and got the fuck out of there. You’re not a fucking dumbass, aren’t there boxes with measurements?”

“I don’t know your measurements!”

“It can’t be that complicated! Get a big one—a large-sized harness, Peeks—and we’ll tighten it up if we need to.”

Patrick sighs, voice audible in it, and looks down at his phone again. “Fine I’m hanging up,” he says.

“Okay good.”

“You’re not allowed to bitch about whatever I come back with.”

“I’m not gonna bitch.”

Patrick stares at him.

“Fuck off, bye,” Jonny says.

Patrick gives him one last grin, tongue between his teeth. “Bye.”

***

It's at least two hours before he gets home.

Jonny's tended to the fiddle leaf, called his mom, worked out a little, taken a shower, and even put their dishes from last night and breakfast into the dishwasher before he hears any activity at the front door.

He rounds the corner and props his hands on his hips to watch Patrick take his shoes off, a big, black, logo-less bag squeezed in the crook of his elbow.

"It really took you that long to pick?"

Patrick looks over at him, then returns to his shoes. "I had to go to another shop," he says very simply.

Jonny's shoulders fall, and then his hands back to his sides. “You went to a whole different shop?" He doesn't move enough for Patrick to ease by him on his way to the foyer cabinet, so Patrick turns sideways and shuffles through like that, smiling in Jonny's face. "Are you kidding?” Jonny presses.

Patrick deposits his sunglasses into the dish on top of the cabinet and slaps the bag up there too. “I am not kidding.” 

“You risked a whole new group of people seeing you but wouldn’t let me say your name.”

“The shop had something I didn’t consider," Patrick says, this also very simply, "but not in a size that’s getting anywhere near me—not even you would take it, it was like a foot long.”

Jonny furrows his brow and goes palms up at that, but Patrick ignores him, starts to rummage through tissue paper for the box inside his bag.

“So I had to go to a different shop to make sure they wouldn't have one of these things that would actually work,” he continues, and hands the box over for Jonny to take, which he does. It’s also black, and it feels expensive—heavy and sleek to his fingers, which is unsurprising, considering. "But they did."

“What is it?” Jonny asks, feeling along the edge for somewhere to pull. 

"A strap-on—don't open it yet."

Jonny pauses with the magnetic handle half lifted, raises an eyebrow.

"I got two of them." Patrick takes a second box out of the bag, purple this time, with a picture on the front of exactly what Jonny expected him to bring home: a plain black harness with—Patrick removes the final box and cracks it open unceremoniously, shows Jonny the peachy, flesh colored dildo inside.

It looks expensive as well at a glance, decently thick, and—

"It's uncut," Patrick says like he finds it amusing. "Seemed fitting."

Jonny snorts at him, but even just this is enough to send that tanning bed inside sizzling back to life, warmth spilling into his belly.

“Why’d you get two?” he asks, eyeing the perfectly nice dick in Patrick’s hands and the closed box he’s still holding himself.

Patrick stacks the harness and dildo on top of the cabinet, turns away from them to take a step in closer to Jonny and slide hands around his waist. “Because I’m not sure if this one’s gonna fit you good,” he says, his voice a little lower. “But I really, really hope it does.”

More warmth floods and centers between Jonny’s legs, enough that he can’t hold back a surprised gasp when Patrick cups him with a soft palm over his sweats, lays his middle finger right along Jonny’s clit. He presses in and circles, just once before he loosens up and takes a nicer handful, takes his whole pussy and squeezes it.

“Want this to feel good while I do,” he whispers. 

“What did you _get,_ Patrick?” Jonny breathes, shivery hot and blindsided, head clouded up until Patrick abruptly lets him go and Jonny realizes he’d pressed up onto the balls of his feet with the tension, feels his face flush as he drifts back down.

“It is really gonna suck if it’s not good,” Patrick says, amused again but a little breathless too. “Open it up.”

Jonny swallows the excess spit pooled in his mouth, gives Patrick a dark look and goes back to the handle on the box. He tugs and flips it up to reveal baby blue satin on the inside, and laid inside that—a shiny blue strap-on, darker than the fabric surrounding it, a nice length. It's comparable to the first dick, smooth and pretty and, god, this color will look so good against Patrick’s—

He notices the extra part at the same time that Patrick reaches into the box and skims two fingers over it—a shorter, curved attachment, like it’s supposed to curl up inside—

Jonny bites at his bottom lip, reaches in to touch where Patrick is, pulse suddenly throbbing in his underwear. 

“I know how much you like being full,” Patrick whispers, and traces a finger along the side of Jonny’s hand, then back over that extra part, smooth over the fat, rounded head of it. “So maybe this’ll be nice, huh?”

Jonny trails the jutting shape with his eyes and knows exactly what it’s for. Knows exactly what Patrick’s been working at for days now, running fingers up inside Jonny like hockey’s his second job.

“Might be good,” Jonny answers, and his voice has deepened, he can hear it. Patrick smiles at it, hums before he leans in with his lava-hot mouth at the hinge of Jonny’s jaw, bites at him soft, breathes,

“How long you gonna make me wait?”

***

He’s finding it hard to remember why he agreed to this.

“I could’ve just fucked you on my hand,” Jonny says, flushed, one harness strap far too snug around his thigh, the other slipped halfway down his knee, body turned at an angle to avoid the way Patrick’s just laying there on the bed, observing his struggle. “Or used the red dildo. Like we have done. Many times before.”

Jonny knows what he’s doing with the red dildo, knows how to get Patrick to come on his tongue when he presses just—

“It’s not the same,” Patrick says, and pushes himself upright on the mattress. Jonny can see him palming his dick out of the corner of his eye, absent about it, gaze trained heavy in the general direction of Jonny's ass, which makes him feel both liquidy hot and impossibly fucking awkward with this blue protrusion flopping between his legs at every little twitch. 

“You’re right, one’s better and easier.”

Patrick bunches his mouth up on one side, disapproving. “You got the strap way too tight, come here,” he says, before he just crawls to the edge of the bed and gets up to walk over himself.

He ignores Jonny’s indignant sigh, crouches at his feet and starts fussing with the buckle cutting into his skin, trying to pull at it.

“It’s as loose as it’ll go!”

“There’s two more notches here, Jon!”

"Yeah, in the wrong direction, just—"

Jonny attempts to pull his leg away, take a step backwards out of Patrick's reach, but as soon as he does, the pressure around his thigh lets up—dissolves entirely as the strap slumps down on him.

Patrick slowly raises his chin with a satisfied little tilt to his lips. "See."

"You annoy me," Jonny says—truthfully—as Patrick switches to the other leg, starts making the same adjustment. His stomach swoops with a strange, flustered energy that he can't decide if he likes or not.

"I'm sure," Patrick says, holding Jonny's eyes as he presses back up onto his feet.

He stays there standing close, and when Jonny looks down he can see that Patrick's keeping the harness from slipping all the way to the floor—that he's circled his hand around the base of the dick.

It's not near enough for Jonny to feel the other part of it—that part pointed towards him, listing to the side under its own weight, but he is suddenly powerfully aware of it.

"You gonna come fuck me now?" Patrick says quietly, all calm and honey, still and warm against Jonny's side, and it's amazing, really, how easy he makes it to slide into his glow.

Jonny lifts a hand to Patrick's hip, skims his palm over him and settles it there, centers himself. "What," he says, voice low. "Right _now_ -now?"

"Right now," Patrick confirms, smiling into a kiss, the sweep of his tongue unhurried despite what he's saying he wants. "I haven't seen those hips moving in a little while."

Jonny feels himself tighten up almost involuntarily, body clenching like a reflex to Patrick's every word, and it's so bizarre to want to fuck into him so bad it makes his pussy feel empty.

"It's not on all the way yet," Jonny whispers on an unsteady breath, smoothing his hand from Patrick's hip to slide over the small of his back, pull him in a little closer. 

“Want any help with that?" Patrick whispers in return, the movement between Jonny's legs turned suggestive, until he does feel _his_ side nudging against him, sliding to open him up the barest amount.

Jonny closes his eyes and swallows, widens his legs, pulls Patrick in even tighter when he goes on against Jonny's mouth, knowing, "You need any lube, baby?"

It’s all it takes to send one of those debilitating waves of heat rolling through Jonny’s lower half, almost like a _thump_ of more wet, a burst and then the leisurely spill. “God,” he whispers, reaching to feel even though he knows, hand bumping against the head of the toy. “Put it in.”

He spreads himself for it, uses two fingers to separate his split, breathes with it as Patrick eases it in—and it’s not very big, not as overwhelming as taking Patrick without a warmed up clit, but it’s an odd shape. Slips in trouble free and then sits there heavy on him, sits right where he knows Patrick wanted it to, where he knows being rubbed could—

Patrick starts kissing along the edge of his jaw, down further along his neck, their stubble catching. He doesn’t let go of the dildo—doesn’t thrust it but doesn’t let up, keeps it sunk deep, firm.

“What's it like?” he asks while Jonny settles, voice thick with need. “Is it in that good spot?”

“Fuck,” Jonny whispers. He wouldn’t know how to describe what this is—good spot, full spot, pressure spot, he doesn't know. It's not the same as rubbing off. It feels...generous. Weighty. "It's good," he answers. "It feels good."

Patrick hums against him, presses another slow kiss on him, back on Jonny's mouth, tongue slick against Jonny's own. "Gonna feel good fucking me," he breathes, rocking the dildo so that piece kneads up inside him. "Get this pussy nice while you've got me on my knees."

"Shit, just—" Jonny gasps, and brings both hands up to hold Patrick's face, stroke his thumbs over his chin, swipe them quick over his lips. He makes Jonny feel so fucking insane, so completely out of his mind so easily. "Just tighten these straps."

Patrick smiles at him, crooked and lazy, eyes half mast while he starts to do as told. He rests there where Jonny's holding him, cheeks pink, like he's relishing in this little bit of highly focused attention, keeping Jonny's gaze as he fixes the buckles without looking.

"This is so fucking weird," Jonny whispers, tilting forward for a soft kiss, suppressing shivers any time the dildo bobs. 

"What? Putting a dick on?"

They both laugh quietly at it—the absurdity of it—and it _is_ absurd. Jonny catches a glimpse of himself in the long mirror Patrick dragged in from the living room the other night—straps around his hips, a strap up his asscrack that Patrick turns him around to get to properly. It brings the dildo into easy view, hanging where Jonny's cock should be, a little lower than its usual position and also fucking navy blue.

He feels himself getting red looking at it, struck once again by what they've fallen into here, and how completely Patrick knows he's—

He looks away from it, turns back again when Patrick gives him a little tap on the side.

"You all good?" he asks, brows furrowed in concentration, surveying his work. "Does it feel right?"

"I think so." Jonny takes the shaft in hand, gives it a dry stroke from base to tip and feels what must be a raised piece of silicone in there for his clit. It's not quite enough to do much for him, but it should light him up a little once he's inside Patrick, that he can tell. He laughs again, soft and under his breath. Absurd. "Yeah, I think I'm set."

Patrick nods, expression melting into pleased contentment, his eyes doing a long sweep of Jonny's body before he takes a few steps backwards, meets the edge of the bed and climbs back on. "I imagine you got it from here." He smiles, bites at his lip and lifts his eyebrows.

"I might know something about it, yeah," Jonny answers, mouth expanding into a smile of his own, and despite how strange it does feel—that pressure on the inside as he slips over to the drawer where they keep the lube—he relaxes into it, breathes deep and tries to be only right here. Right in this moment with Patrick's eyes on him, warm and dark, his beautiful fucking cock hanging thick between his legs when he turns over, gets onto his knees and props himself up.

"Figure it might be easier this way," he says with the side of his face pressed into one of the pillows, voice already a little deep and dreamy the way it gets when they do this. "The angle and all."

"Probably," Jonny agrees, quiet, tossing the lube into easy reach before he leans down to lie alongside him—get to his mouth. "Come here, though."

Patrick hums at him, happily amused, and goes. He turns into him and lets Jonny pull him in close, pushes Jonny's shoulders back and slips his tongue past Jonny's lips like it was his idea, so hot and perfectly in tune that sometimes it feels excessive—like Jonny's stumbled onto this fleeting thing that he has to consume as much of as possible before it floats away.

He finds Patrick's dick between them, plays his fingers over the length and pulses down on the toy filling his pussy up at the barest, most unwitting spark of a thought to take Patrick inside instead. Heat crowds into his belly, into his face with the sound Patrick makes at the touch, and then more when Patrick reaches down too, circles the base of the dildo like he did before.

"I almost want to jack it like it's you," he says, teeth flashing in a grin. "But that'd just be fucking you right now, huh?"

He tightens his hand, mirrors the rhythm Jonny's started—nothing hurried about it without anything slick yet, but enough to exchange little gasps into each other's mouths, Patrick bumping up against Jonny's clit in a way he probably doesn't even know he's doing. 

It's nice—so weird and nice, tipping his hips against the motion, trying to get more of that friction, the tight rub just out of reach. 

"Wait," Jonny breathes, his head already too fogged up. He reaches for the lube that's drifted off to the side and squeezes some onto his fingers, spreads it slippery between them, and instead of going back to Patrick's dick, he pulls him in by the crook of his knee, props Patrick’s leg over his own thigh.

Patrick moans a little—quiet, but from deep in his chest, face near enough Jonny could count his freckles if he wanted, near enough to make out the subtle shift in his color when Jonny touches his hole, pale pink deepening into something hotter.

"You wanna get in here?" Patrick whispers, licking against Jonny's bottom lip, his hand still working at the dildo. "Gonna do it right even with this fake dick?"

"God," Jonny breathes, reddening up more himself when the sloshy wet noises he’s making register to his ears. They've barely even fucking started this—barely and he's still so—

"So good," Patrick whispers, and Jonny doesn't know if he's talking about the two fingers he slips him or what he's doing to Jonny himself, grinding that end inside, up against what Jonny thinks has to be his g-spot.

They fall into a back and forth like that, rocking on each other, hands occupied, Patrick so hot and tight Jonny's already halfway to upset he won't feel him, won't get that warm snap around his cock, won't feel him squeeze when he hits him good.

"Want my dick back so bad right now," he whispers, even with the way he's sopping, the pressure inside doing it for him, building up like Patrick's gotten it to do before.

"Yeah?" Patrick breathes into the next kiss, tightening on Jonny's hand. "I know, baby. Listen to that pussy. You're so fucking wet wanting up inside here."

"Fuck," Jonny croaks, shivering with the jolt of pleasure that zips through him, the surge of thrill that still comes with that word leaving Patrick's mouth.

He kisses him to shut him up, to gather the strength to get himself upright, push Patrick onto his back.

"You want it like this?" he says, hair messy against the sheets, the gold of his chain glinting in the bedside lamplight. He spreads his thighs open, grabs the discarded lube and gets more to smear over the glimpse of his pink asshole. "Want to watch my cock bounce?"

"Jesus Christ," Jonny whispers, crawling over him immediately, right into the space Patrick's made. He takes the lube from him, drizzles it over the dildo with clumsy fingers. "You ever stop running that mouth?"

Patrick grins at him, dimples popping. "Don’t front like you don’t like it," he says, opening up for the kiss Jonny lays on him, rolling up against him when their hips connect. It's only for a moment, though—a handful of seconds Jonny spends trading breath before he sits back on his knees, takes in Patrick's body. His nipples are perky in the cool of the AC, dick fat and flushed on top of his twitchy abs, and he's not sweating so much as he looks misted over, eyes heavy lidded and pleasure drunk.

Jonny sighs a little at the sight, reaches for one of Patrick’s legs and lifts it to press a soft kiss against his calf—one, then another, and another. "Can't believe I'm about to fuck you with a strap-on," he murmurs, smiling wry as he settles Patrick against his shoulder, crawls back in closer like that.

Patrick rises onto his elbows to help position himself, his color picked up again, grin flashing back into life. "I know you know it," he says when Jonny swipes the head of the dildo smooth over his hole, pussy clenching up again. "But I picked that dick because of you."

Patrick likes a slow entry, likes enough time to accommodate, get himself used to being filled, and it’s fine by Jonny because he also keeps saying shit that takes Jonny out, knocks him from his concentration into dumb-headed lust. 

“Not just that little part that better be getting you nice in there,” he goes on, his hand meandering down his chest, bringing attention to his cock because he _knows_ how much Jonny likes looking at it. “What you’re about to slide in me, too. Picked that for me because of you.”

“Shit,” Jonny whispers, discomfited again because he can’t feel it—that molten heat he knows accompanies this, stretching Patrick open on that first little pop inside. It makes that mound of silicone knock into his clit though, only a tease but still—god. Still so new Patrick could probably blow on him and he’d get wet.

And it’s like he can read Jonny’s mind—moans as Jonny starts to sink more deeply, but also stretches a hand to skirt the harness where the dildo’s attached, the leathery black material covering Jonny up. “Tell me what you feel like,” he whispers, sliding a finger just inside, not enough room to reach properly, to touch anything, but even the inkling of it makes Jonny ache with heat. “I want to know.”

Jonny has to be somewhere else for that, not exposed up here to Patrick’s gaze, his face on display. Not talking about this.

He leans down again, lets Patrick’s leg slip off his shoulder and then up around his waist as he buries himself in his neck, gets the full experience of his end of the dildo fucking into him just right, just exactly in that space that makes him feel so stuffed and breathless, makes him feel like his pussy could come without his clit even getting into the game. 

They both moan into the sensation of it, getting filled like this, one of Patrick’s hands sliding into Jonny’s hair, the other gripped on his ass.

“It’s what you want,” Jonny breathes, starting to move, chasing more of that intensity. “It’s gotta—this has to be the—has to be my g-spot—I don’t—I don’t know—”

"Oh, baby," Patrick whispers, his leg pulling Jonny in more closely, more secure and tight against him. "Oh, baby, fuck." It's like it has the effect of opening him right up, his hips hitching and lifting to get Jonny deeper, take him to the hilt. "Fuck that pussy on me," he breathes, talking fast, dazed. "Whatever feels good—god, Jonny."

It slips back into what it was—the back and forth between them, feeding into each other so completely, wrapped up and unthinking except for how to get off, no rush to it.

"Is it—" Jonny gasps, moving as well as he can with his head all jumbled like it is, a mess of every sexual reflex he's ever had thrown in together with all of the unfamiliar. "Is it—want you to feel—" 

He can't tell what these thrusts are doing for Patrick, only that they're still building Jonny up himself—like a sink filled to the brim one leaky drip at a time, more agonizing than Patrick working him off with his fingers, trying and trying before giving in to suck his clit.

Patrick just keeps on with his little grunts and moans, encouraging with the hand on Jonny's ass, eager for whatever he's getting out of this. "You're fucking soaked," he says, voice rough with it, dirty, almost violent somehow. "Holy shit—I can feel how fucking wet—"

He's not lying. As soon as he says it Jonny can feel how true it is, again picks up the sloppy sounds of himself underneath their panting gasps, the quiet shifting of the mattress.

He doesn't know how it's possible, feels like he's hunting something that's still far off, maybe even unattainable, but his _thighs_ are slick, the harness squelchy underneath the toy when he reaches between his and Patrick's bodies, fits his hand into the side to check it. 

"How," he breathes, eyes drooping. "How am I—"

This toy isn't even big enough—sits in him good but not _enough,_ none of it enough in what abruptly feels like some sweetly tortuous kind of misery, absolutely fucking unbearable.

"I don’t think I can come," he whispers into Patrick's skin. "I can't come like this, baby." He pulls his hand from out of the harness and wraps it around Patrick's dick without pause, palm slick. "I'll make you come, I'll—"

He lifts up some onto his knees for more leverage to thrust with, has the momentary thought that he should flip Patrick over, that it would be easier to control if—

And Patrick pulls away from him.

Jonny doesn't let go of his dick for one long, dumb moment, arm outstretched too far in Patrick's direction, his whole body and brain burning up with the need to touch himself, to get more than pressure, more than little nudges against his clit.

He blinks at the spot where Patrick just was, and then looks slowly up at him, muscles weak with pleasure. "What—"

"Get that off," Patrick says, cock so flushed and stiff when Jonny takes it in properly his mouth floods hot.

Patrick drops onto his hands while Jonny's staring and crawls back over, catches him up in a desperate kiss, too hard to feel good in any objective sense and it still makes Jonny lightheaded, still makes his belly all heavy with gratification.

"What—" he starts again, but Patrick presses another kiss on him, tugs at one of his hip straps.

"Get this off," he says, trying to undo the buckle he'd carefully set into place himself. "I can't fucking take it." His voice sounds thick, guttural, all of his S's slurred. "You haven't gotten this wet _ever_ and I can't—" 

Jonny does not have it in him to point out that they're working with a narrow sample size, amazed as well, too fucking out of it to give a shit what Patrick wants to do to him as long as he _does_ it.

"Yeah," he breathes, nodding, trying to help—probably making it worse with the both of them frazzled, fingers tugging and pulling until one buckle comes free and Patrick can leave it at that, leave Jonny strapped in on one side, enough to push him down backwards and get up between his legs to ease that attachment out.

"Fuck," he moans, the sound low and long from his throat, watching with a rapt attention that Jonny can't pull his eyes away from—the look on Patrick's face so awed it's ridiculous. "Holy fuck."

He lets the whole contraption flop gracelessly to the side of Jonny's thigh like he never wants to see it again, like all he wants is to stay right here, breathing over Jonny's emptiness like he can't decide where to start.

"Patrick," Jonny says, not quite a whine, strained and tight, ready to snap, and then it is absolutely most definitely a whine when Patrick dips forward without another word, goes right for his neglected clit and puts himself in service.

Jonny tips his head back, lifts his knees, restless against that wet suction, and lets them fall right back down. He can't do anything for several radiant moments except feel, his body weightless and lumbering at once, until he can't stand to not watch, grips his hands into the sheets at his sides like it might give him some kind of strength.

He props one foot in that high, familiar spot on Patrick's back, eyes absolutely glued to his mouth, his own parted in blissed out amazement. He can hardly breathe, too focused on Patrick eating him better than he has maybe the entire time Jonny’s been like this so far, dragging his tongue firm along the underside of his clit and up, so Jonny can see it resting there.

"God," Jonny gasps, and resists the urge to close his legs on him, feels himself contract on a hard, bright throb. "Give me your—god, give me your dick—your fingers—give me something—baby—" 

Patrick groans out a long vibrating moan into Jonny’s body, breath loud through his nose, and immediately he slicks his hand underneath his working mouth, two fingers slipping in so fucking easy, curling up to rub him inside where they both know he’s supposed to, right where Jonny already feels swollen and fucked, already sore.

"I'm gonna get it from you," Patrick whispers, letting up with his mouth to just kiss at Jonny’s clit, let the heat of it rest against his lips while he keeps on with his stroking.

He's got that dangerous look when Jonny meets his eyes, dark and instantly unhurried, like he's got all the time in the world to do what he wants, a puck landing pretty, right on his tape.

He makes Jonny feel like he'll die, like he'll burn up into nothing with Patrick between his legs, orgasm all over him and then just disintegrate.

He flops back, tries moving down against him, into Patrick's endless rhythm, shifts his hips too eager and restless, and Patrick presses a soft string of kisses to his inner thigh, pets at him with his free hand.

"Shhhh, baby," he whispers, promise in his words even if he doesn't offer anything up. “What’s this feel like?”

Jonny lets out a strained moan, reaches for Patrick's hair and digs his hand in. It's still hard to describe, still too new, too astonishing to consider while he's getting fucked like this. “I don’t—“ he tries, hot, stomach lurching when Patrick switches something up—changes his speed. “I don’t know.”

“This right here,” Patrick presses, slowing the motion of his fingers even further but not the pressure, rolling them inside. “Tell me what this feels like.”

“God,” Jonny gasps, lifting to meet his eyes again, panting, arms straining to keep himself upright. “Like you’re on my prostate.” He lets his head fall back and moans when Patrick really presses up on him, almost too firm. “But I don’t—I don’t know. Different. I feel like I’m gonna—piss or something, god, Patrick—“

“Like you’re gonna piss?” Patrick repeats, hushed, and he chances a soft soft suck at Jonny’s clit, lets go fast and makes Jonny clench his fist in his handful of curls.

“Like my pussy’s gonna come,” he gasps, grasping onto the thought from before, panting. “Not my clit.”

Patrick closes his eyes, looks pained and entirely inside his own head for the longest moment, brows pulled together. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says from his chest, slushing Jonny’s pussy with his fingers, so fucking noisy. “God I want it. Want your pussy to come. I'll take care of your clit later. Give it to me, baby.”

Jonny doesn't know how to give it to him, wouldn't be able to even explain fucking icing right now, but he plants his feet on the mattress, angles himself so Patrick's getting him in the sharpest spot, until it feels like that out-of-reach sensation could sneak up on him, do something good.

He has no idea how long it goes on like that, Patrick fucking him on his fingers, building and building, his voice quiet and balmy and distant, whispering stupid endearments Jonny won't remember, but it registers somewhere around the point of unpleasant, when Jonny feels like he can't do it for a single second longer, the ache too deep, his pussy too hot, too fucking— 

"God," Patrick whispers. "Your perfect little clit." And he leans in for it, just to lay one more baby kiss, and Jonny comes in a soft, wet gush against Patrick's hand, surprised into it, shocked, a hot release that slicks Patrick up to the wrist, gets him in the chin and soaks into the blanket under them, makes Jonny grit his teeth and shout like he's being murdered.

It's the strongest orgasm he's ever felt in his fucking life. Comes and comes and comes and comes, radiating outwards in waves.

"Oh my fucking god," Patrick says, and Jonny feels him smooth his hand over the mound of him, feels him take hold in a gentle squeeze, still coming. 

He still can't think when Patrick distinctly pulls away, just goes with it, moves his pussy right into it when next second Patrick sinks inside him, wraps Jonny up with an arm under his back and starts to fuck him again, his dick too much where Jonny's beaten up inside and so fucking good he lets out a sob, pulls Patrick to him and lets him take and take.

His hips feel frantic, movements erratic and so fast out of rhythm, telling when he starts to gasp into Jonny's ear that he's perfect, so perfect—so—fucking—

***

Jonny cannot move.

He doesn't open his eyes. Lies star-fished on top of the bed and wonders if he will ever, indeed, move again.

His thigh itches where the lone harness strap that made it through is still connected, pulling at his skin somewhere under Patrick's body weight, but he can't lift any single limb to do anything about it.

"That completely fucked my forearm," Patrick says, voice muffled in Jonny's skin and happy, pleased even though he still seems out of it.

"Your forearm," Jonny says, and after a delay, Patrick laughs, the one Jonny thinks of as his gremlin cackle, a tight sound that comes from his throat and leaves through his nose, his face scrunched up even though Jonny can't see him.

Jony's chest swells with it, even if the movement it causes makes him throb in oversensitive discomfort.

"I hope you know I'm not doing anything the rest of the day," he says, furrowing his eyebrows like he could stabilize any shifting or groin activity with his mind alone.

Patrick hums, lets that go as his only reply for a few moments and then says, "I can eat without your help."

"No."

Patrick laughs again, kisses Jonny underneath his jaw, rubs his lips back and forth over the spot, feeling him. "Told you I'd get you to squirt," he whispers, lifting to trace a finger around Jonny's nipple.

"God, Patrick."

"My hand's still damp."

Jonny groans, feels himself tighten where Patrick's still inside him. "Do you ever stop?"

He can feel Patrick's smile, thinks he can even hear it.

"I'm just saying," Patrick responds.

"You say a lot of things."

Jonny feels him shrug now, knows his smile hasn't gone away. "And look where we are. You should thank me."

Jonny only doesn't roll his eyes because Patrick wouldn't know if he did, instead lets that feeling in his chest grow, settle nice and warm.

"I'll thank you if you let me take a nap."

Patrick lets out one last chuckle, deeper this time, a little sleepy himself. "Probably gonna have to take care of this river first before someone shows up to dye it green, holy shit."

It's not even fucking funny, both of them still high, but Jonny lets out a long, pained moan, finally moves to take hold of Patrick's ass and steady him tight while his abs contract from his own stupid laughter. "I can't fucking stand you," he says, too affectionate, too obviously utterly in love.

Patrick lifts his face, his grin wide, mouth red, his hair totally destroyed. He leans in for a kiss, very careful about it, hums against Jonny's lips. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorrylatenew on tumbr and (mostly) on twitter!


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